


metal touch

by lnaudible



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canonical Character Death, not my best work <3, this is meant to go along with ravenbranwyns fic, this isn't exactly alcohol poisoning but kinda is, which was qrow pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnaudible/pseuds/lnaudible
Summary: a sort-of companion fic to phantom sensation by ravenbranwyn from Tyrians POV!
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Tyrian Callows
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	metal touch

**Author's Note:**

> i know this could be better so if you spot any mistakes tell me and i'll fix em! also i miserably failed at making the first two paraghraphs in italics so rip me. "I'll kill you!" was also supposed to be in italics but alas, i can't figure it out...

„Oh don’t stop on my account!“ His voice echoed through the empty field, and Tyrian watched the uncomfortable way Branwen looked his way before turning to attack. He was holding his scythe in a rather elegant way. It cought him off guard a bit. 

„Wasn’t planning on it.“ 

Tyrian had to admit Branwen put up a good fight, all things considered. Mainly the fact that he was fighting two people. But he still couldn’t win, which was a shame. He really wanted to fight him all by himself. Instead he got a messy dance against Clover, who didn’t seem to understand their situation. He and Branwen had unfinished buisness. 

He rather liked the distinctive way it felt to wrap his tail around his waist, push him forward to fight Clover. Even if he knew it was all a set up to have him all alone the synergy left him tingling. It was really something to be able to fight alongside someone like Qrow Branwen, even if it technically wasn’t a fair fight. Tyrian and Clover had their orders, and while Tyrian wasn’t meant to kill any of them, he hoped the Queen would appreciate his efforts. 

It was a shame he had to leave so soon; but at least he could look forward to their next encounter. Their last fight—however unsatisfactory—was a masterpiece. He hadn’t gotten to show off his semblance back then, regrettably, because it would’ve made it infinitely more interesting. Damn the Atlas Military for showing up so soon, damn Branwen for ending this so soon. 

He was still running through the snowy field, throwing an occasional look back towards the crash site. Branwen was sitting there, lamenting over a dead body, but his voice was getting further away with every second. He’d miss it, their fight. 

Tyrian considered slowing down and turning around to finish what he started, but there was too much at stake, with his Queen coming to Atlas in a few hours. Oh, he couldn’t wait to hear what She would say.

But still, there was an uncomfortable feeling in the distant part of his mind regretting he left Branwen when he could’ve finished their little rivalry. But leaving was what he had to do.

I’ll kill you! 

You can try Branwen. 

He seriously doubted he could even injure him, but he had proven to be a good oponent if he wanted to be. His moves were more graceful than impactful, in his opinion. But he was creative with his weapon, he had to give him that. 

Tyrian swung his tail from side to side gently in rhythm with his steps and remembered the way the cold metal wound itself around Branwens waist. It was almost instinctive, to hold him tight enough not to drop him, but loose enough so Qrow wouldn’t be injured. He quite like the name—Qrow Branwen—it held a lot of meaning. Probably only to him, but he liked it nonetheless.  
The clinking of his weapons on his arms started to sound eerily like the way Qrows scythe sliced through air when he swung it at him. He wondered what he called his scythe, if it held the same deep meaning as his name. 

But it all seemed irrelevant. It all paled in comparison to the gutteral scream coming from behind him. Qrow? 

Oh, Clover. He was dead, finally. Took him a while. 

Tyrian hadn’t expected such a gutteral reaction to the death of somebody as unimportant as him, but who was he to judge. He quite enjoyed the wet splash of blood on the snow when he drove Qrows weapon through his torso. Qrow probably didn’t, but then again, Qrow didn’t exactly hold the same appreciation for murder as Tyrian did. Shame. It was truly a beautiful sight. 

Back when they first met, he had heard a lot about him. The notorious Qrow Branwen, the one who swept the floor with a horde of grimm in a matter of minutes, the one who brought destruction wherever he went, the so-called protector of Remnant. The only one who managed to do all this and stay unknown. He had been quite excited to meet him. 

And he didn’t disappoint. For the most part. They fought on equal ground, and Tyrian had thought there was nothing more he could learn about his fight style. It seemed pretty straight-forward. A few moves for show, a slash there and now, it was pretty boring. 

But, oh boy, was he wrong. His mistakes ended up costing him his tail, but that was the girls fault. She could choke, but Qrow wouldn’t be happy about that either, he seemed to hold all those brats close to his heart. For shame. 

He knew hurting any of those little bastards would undoubtedly bring him the wrath of the protector of Remnant, but that only made it much more exciting. He would be coming for them next, that was for sure. 

Qrows broken cry subsided, but Tyrian could still hear it echoing in his head like a broken record. He knew it wouldn’t leave for a while. He was fine with that, as long as he could keep hearing his voice.


End file.
